The Gift
by StrayxMonarch
Summary: In which the simplest gesture somehow becomes their salvation. Aka: Patterson teaches Jane to knit, and in doing so slowly knits the team back together. (Previously posted to tumblr)


_Initially written and posted to tumblr a few weeks ago, and I've been meaning to bring it across to here ever since._

 _Hope you like it._

* * *

A little over a week after she returned to the FBI, Patterson unexpectedly appeared at her door, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air and a large bag bundled in her arms.

Bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, the blonde didn't even give Jane a chance to speak, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

"Do you wanna learn to knit?"

Still holding onto the door, Jane blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Knitting. With yarn and stuff. Do you want to learn? I've been learning and I'm not very good at it yet and I thought maybe if I was learning with someone else we could help each other and I dunno I just thought you might…"

Sucking in a breath, Patterson fiddled self-consciously with the edges of the bag, her gaze dropping to her feet for a moment before flicking back up to meet Jane's.

"We don't have to talk, or anything. We could just… listen to music. I've still got that playlist you asked me to make for you, you know, _before_. But if you don't want– I mean, I know knitting's kinda dumb, and I'm probably not someone you really want to–"

Raising her voice slightly, Jane cut her off.

"Do you want some wine?"

Blowing out a relieved breath, Patterson nodded gratefully.

"God, yes."

They didn't talk much, that first time. In fact, they didn't talk much any of the times they got together over the next few weeks, mostly only speaking to comment on each other's work or ask for a second opinion on a color or style.

As time went by, though, Patterson would occasionally tell her things, like her conflicting feelings over getting closer to Borden, or her continuing reservations about Nas, or even her mom's new gardening obsession– but she always kept it short, just a handful of sentences, as if she knew that Jane both craved casual social interaction and was overwhelmed by it.

Eventually, Jane started responding in kind– never during their lunchtime knitting breaks in the quiet office by the lab, of course, because she never knew whose ears might be listening– but sometimes during one of their evening sessions, when it was just the two of them and a bottle of wine and a growing pile of knitted garments between them. She told her little things, things that couldn't harm anyone– things that would be of no interest to Weller or Nas, just in case they forced her to report back.

She told her about the nights she would go and sit in Times Square, or the new book she was reading– usually one that Patterson had already read multiple times before– or even her progress with the team, like the fact that Reade had recently held a door for her, and the other day Zapata had smiled at her for the first time in months.

The changes with Weller, though– the rare smile, the occasional touch, the slow gentling of his gaze– she kept to herself.

Once, she picked up two balls of yarn, holding up first one and then the other, her voice quiet.

"This was my favorite color, before I was wiped. I remember that. But now I look at it and I can only think that I like _this_ one better. And I just– the person I was before, the person my brother keeps hoping I am… I'm not her anymore, Patterson, but I don't really know who I am now, either."

"I do," Patterson quipped, her eyes never leaving her needles. "You're Jane."

Biting her lip, she so nearly left it at that; so nearly let the subject drop. It was already a longer conversation than she was used to having outside work, but somehow she simply couldn't keep the question from leaving her lips.

"But who is Jane?"

"Well that's the thing about identity, isn't it?" Patterson responded thoughtfully, looking up at her with eyebrows raised. "The answer to that question is always changing. Even without being mind-wiped, no one is ever the exact same person their entire life. The person you are is really just a reflection of the choices you make every day."

Dropping her gaze, Jane fought to keep her voice casual. "So you don't believe we're bound by the choices we might have made in the past?"

"Nope, I don't," Patterson stated simply, giving a little half-shrug, then frowned distractedly at her half-finished sock for a moment before continuing. "Take my computer. It can be used to create viruses and crash systems and cause chaos, or it can solve problems humans can't and create programs that help millions of people. It's the same computer, the difference is in how you use it. Now say your life is that computer, and you're the operator. This past you– Remy, or whoever– used it one way, but now it's your turn. You should just use it however feels right."

For a few moments Jane said nothing, her throat oddly tight. Then, she let out a breath, her voice almost teasing. "Are all your metaphors computer-related?"

Glancing up at her, Patterson grinned. "Pretty much, yeah."

Though they never directly discussed it again, Jane thought of that conversation often.

And every day, she made her choice.

As time went by, her interactions with the team improved, as did her mood, and her knitting, too. Until this point, she and Patterson had both donated everything they'd made, but for the first time, she had something else in mind.

One night, after Patterson had already been at her place for half an hour, Jane finally worked up the courage.

"There's something I want to try."

When Patterson simply raised her eyebrows at her, Jane bit her lip, and showed her the design.

"Will you help me?"

With a slow smile spreading across her face, Patterson nodded.

"The answer to that question is always going to be a yes, Jane. But this time it's an _extra_ yes."

They started that night. It took them a few weeks, their sessions becoming almost nightly, with Patterson mostly working on her own– increasingly delicate and complex– projects but giving Jane advice and input as she battled determinedly with the difficult design.

One of the nights that they happened to be at Patterson's apartment, Patterson's phone buzzed, and she paused for a moment as she read the message.

"Hey, Jane. Zapata has a fancy bottle of wine that she wants to bring around. Would you mind? She knows you're here too."

For a half-second Jane froze, but swiftly steeled herself, letting out a breath. Zapata had been nothing but civil to her lately– sometimes even bordering on friendly. And beyond that, it was Patterson's house, and it was her right to invite anyone she liked.

"Should I put this away before she gets here?" was her only response, but Patterson shook her head.

"I think she'll like it."

And she was right, it seemed; after a slightly stilted greeting, Zapata joined them on the couches with a glass of wine, but it was only once she saw the near-complete work in Jane's hands that she truly smiled for the first time, both amusement and a flash of something– approval, maybe?– crossing her features.

"Well, I didn't see _that_ coming. Definitely far better than the couple of crooked scarves I managed to make, though," she said with a grin, her compliment genuine, not a trace of sarcasm or mockery in her tone.

"We could teach you, if you wanted to try again," Patterson offered, speaking around the needles held between her teeth as she dug in the yarn bag, her brows drawing together in concentration.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Zapata answered, then chuckled. "Maybe we could even talk Reade into joining in sometime as well, he's always saying that all his beanies are so uncomfortable that he should just knit some himself."

Catching Jane's eye, she gave a small, deliberate nod, and Jane simply nodded back before dropping her gaze and bending her head over her work, hiding her smile.

By the time her project was finally complete, Zapata had joined them again twice, and it was her who pushed her to do something with it.

"You've worked on it for weeks, Jane, and it looks great. You can't back down now."

Seeing both Patterson and Zapata smiling at her encouragingly– a sight that just a few short months ago she never would have thought she'd ever see again– Jane blew out a breath, and nodded.

"Okay."

The next afternoon, she swallowed back her nerves, then placed the finished product– resting safely in a simple, flat box– upon the desk before quickly making her way to the door. As she pulled it open and stepped out, however, she all but collided with Weller, his hands immediately coming up to steady her.

"Jane?" he asked in surprise, just the tiniest hint of suspicion entering his tone as he glanced into the room behind her. "What were you doing in my office?"

Flushing, she dropped her gaze, cursing herself. She'd planned this moment all day, had carefully chosen her timing just to avoid this very situation.

So much for that.

"Something on your desk for you," she mumbled, then awkwardly sidestepped him, her eyes never leaving the floor. "Goodnight."

Walking quickly, she dodged around a pair of agents who were approaching him with reports, and was gone before he could say anything else.

Later that night, Patterson showed up on her doorstep yet again.

"Patterson?" she questioned, her forehead creasing in a confused frown. "I didn't think we were–"

"Oh, we're not. I just came by to give you this," the blonde said with a grin, holding out a small USB. "Just a little footage from Weller's office this evening."

Eyes wide, Jane sucked in a breath. " _Patterson_ –"

"Oh, don't look so scandalized, it's only like twenty seconds," Patterson said blithely, flapping a hand at her. Then, her expression became sly. "And trust me, it's twenty seconds you're gonna like."

After a moment of indecision, Jane reached out and took the USB, her fingers closing around it like it was something fragile and precious.

"Thank you."

"Mm-hmm," Patterson hummed playfully, waggling her eyebrows. "See you tomorrow, Jane."

Letting out a breath, she gave her a small nod. "See you tomorrow."

As Patterson skipped back down the steps, Jane shut the door behind her, staring down at the USB in her palm. Then, closing her fingers around it once more, she moved back into the lounge room and opened up her laptop, biting her lip as she plugged it in, her finger hovering for a moment before clicking on the video file.

Instantly, Weller appeared on her screen, her breath catching slightly as she saw him standing at his desk, staring at the unopened box. Then– with a quick glance at the door– he lifted the lid, his whole body falling still as he looked down at what lay inside. Setting the lid aside with hands that weren't quite steady, he slowly reached into the box, first lifting out the tiny beanie, then the booties, then lastly the soft, carefully-crafted onesie in her favorite color.

For a long moment, he just stood there, cradling the tiny garments in his large hands– and then he started to smile, a real Weller smile, his entire face seeming to glow with it. Then, he gently– almost reverently– returned the baby clothes to the box, before replacing the lid and simply letting his hand rest atop it, her heart stumbling as she saw his lips form the words "Thank you, Jane."

As the screen went black, Jane closed down the video, a lightness in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. She was still smiling when there was another knock at the door a minute later, and she swiftly crossed over to it and pulled it wide, her tone teasing.

"Patterson, you just couldn't–"

And then she abruptly cut herself off, because it was not Patterson at her door.

It was Weller.

Seeming just as off-balance as she was, he stared for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Jane. I, ah, wanted to come by and say thank you."

Dropping her gaze, Jane fought the urge to fidget, her voice as steady as she could make it. "You're welcome."

Clearly, that was not all he'd come to say; shifting slightly from one foot to the other, he hesitated for a moment, one hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck as he spoke again.

"So you knitted all of that yourself?"

She gave a small nod. "Patterson taught me."

"Maybe you could teach me sometime," he said lightly, and though he'd tried to make it sound like a casual suggestion, she knew it went deeper than that.

Knew it meant more to him than that.

As her heart rate picked up, she swallowed slightly, then glanced pointedly at his large, calloused hands before lifting her gaze to his, her eyebrows high and a trace of their old teasing in her voice.

"With _those_ hands?"

Huffing a small, surprised laugh, Weller smiled at her, his expression almost shy.

"Yeah, I, ah, know there are some things I'm not the best equipped for. But I'm willing to try," he told her, his gaze meeting and holding hers, his meaning , drawing in a deep breath, he lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Maybe– maybe in return I could teach you some more about cooking? Ah, tomorrow night, maybe?"

For a moment, she wasn't sure she breathed. Then, a slow smile tugged at her lips, her voice soft. "I'd like that."

Weller's reply was quiet, his gaze warm. "Me too."

As their gazes held, the seconds stretched out between them, the silence speaking volumes– until Weller blinked and looked down, letting out a small, self-conscious chuckle before shifting back a step.

"Alright. Well, goodnight, Jane."

Ducking her head, Jane hid her smile, her body suddenly warm.

"Goodnight, Weller."

With a last little nod, he turned away, hands shoving into his pockets as he headed down the steps. For a moment she watched him go, then made herself close the door, leaning against it and blowing out a slow breath.

A month ago, she'd forced herself to accept that her place in Weller's future would be peripheral at best, that their chapter in his story was all but over.

But the way he'd spoken and acted toward her since then– the way he'd _looked_ at her– had made her wonder if there was a chance she'd been wrong, a chance that he could still feel for her what she had always felt for him.

Tonight, though, she no longer had to wonder. Tonight, there were now two things she knew with absolute certainty.

One, there was still _something–_ something beyond a simple workplace relationship, something real- _-_ between her and Weller.

And two– she was going to buy Patterson _so_ much wine.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading, and feel free to find me on tumblr at idealisticrealism for all the little oneshots and drabbles that never make it over to here._


End file.
